Two days ago, while sitting at my computer and looking out the bay window in the living room, I noticed a robin fluttering around the passenger side window and side-view mirror of my car. Cute, I thought. I've heard of birds taking issue with their own reflections. He'll give up in a bit, I thought.
That's where I was wrong. He didn't give up, but he did change sides of the car. On the driver's side, in my direct eyesight, he was fluttering at the window, then standing on top of the side-view mirror, over and over and over again. He would then advance to the hood of the car and peck at the windshield, then go back to the side door. This went on all day.
The next day, he was still at it. (I actually think it might have been a "she" because the bird was not as brightly colored as male birds tend to be, but I'm calling it "he" because...well...just because.) Only this time, the "carnage" to my car was obvious. There was a veritable river of white/black bird poop on the back side of the black mirror and down the whole door or the silver vehicle. Ewww....!
By late afternoon, I took the car to a Crew Car Wash here in Plainfield. It's mostly automated but the attendants do pressure-spray the side of the car before it enters the robot machines. Cost of the cheapest car wash: $9. The buggy actually was in need of a bath, so I didn't resent the expenditure too much, except for the fact that I was already down to only a few dollars left in my checking account due to all of the expenses of the month. (I'm already into my savings by at least $400 this month and didn't want to dig into it more just to clean off bird poop!) The wash didn't remove all of the bird stuff but did take care of most of it.
When I got home, I put a plastic grocery bag over the driver's side mirror and also stuck one in the window in an effort to keep Mr. Robin away. It didn't work! He just went back to the passenger side. Sooo...I went out and did the same thing to the passenger's side. Next thing I knew, he was back to the driver's side but had changed locations to the back seat window, and the stream of white "stuff" was just now in a different place on my newly-washed car!
Don't get me wrong. I love the songbirds--and all of nature, really--but I was just about ready to throttle one highly-persistent robin! Thereafter, until he found a place to roost at dusk, every time I saw him, I opened the front door and chased him off. I'm thinking six or seven times.
So far today, I haven't seen him. (Hate to say it for fear of jinxing myself.) I'm not sure what his natural instincts are. Is he a male seeing another male to fight in his reflection? Is he a male trying to woo what he thinks could be a mate in the window? Is it a female defending nesting territory with another offending bird too close to a nest? Wish I knew! I know that birds are intelligent creatures. Maybe more intelligent than we humans who are trying to figure them out!
Another car wash is in order. Hope it can wait a few more days until pension payday. The robin has all of the big bad wonderful world to be in, and it/he/she targets my car?? Word!
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
Sunday, March 26, 2017
Visit From My Sister
My sister, Shari, came here on February 25th in preparation to celebrate my 70th birthday (on March 2nd). We did what we always do...ate, drank, talked, and commiserated about being old. (Shari is 75.)
Shari had to come on a bit different route than usual because of some road construction close to my home. (Less than five miles from here.) I had given her instructions, but she got bumfuzzled and managed to have a fender-bender with another car at an intersection maybe a mile from here. Ugh!
I'll get the dates wrong, but we had a good time. It was her whole focus to take me somewhere special to eat for my birthday. I mulled it over in my mind for days...and then, out of nowhere, my daughter in Seattle suggested that we needed to see a show. BINGO! I checked to see what Beef and Boards Dinner Theater in Indy was showing. Turned out to be Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat, which I had never seen but always wanted to. Thus, in an instant, our birthday decision was made and paid for. (Thank you, Shari!!)
Thereafter, before and after--whatever--we shopped at Kohl's so Shari could spend her coupons. (She spent it all on me.) We drove up to Indy's north side to shop at Trader Joe's. Shari LOVES the Charles Shaw white zinfandel that TJ's sells, so she buys a whole case, because it's cheap. (Called "Two-Buck Chuck" by many.) We ate at Waffle House one morning; Bob Evans another day...and, of course, the piece-de-resistance: Beef and Boards Dinner Theater. Interspersed in there were visits to the orthopedist for steroid knee shots due to my injury. (See previous post.)
My Birthday was March 2nd. We left for Beef and Boards plenty early. I had good directions to get there but had never driven there myself, even though I had been there two times before. I got us in the right neighborhood but kept turning the wrong say until Shari said, "Go that way. We haven't done that before." And there it was. She got stuck dropping me off at the door and parking the car because I really wasn't walking well with the knee injury. The food was pretty good. (Our server carried my buffet-served foods back to the table for me so I could utilize my hands to get up the stairs.) They announced my birthday from the stage, along with others (but mine got the most applause because I was the oldest)! The show was fantastic. The trip home was easy, so we basked in the afterglow for a day or two. What a great time!!
Shari was slated to go home on March 6th. Her dog was in a boarding kennel at home...and she was worried about getting her bills paid. What I haven't mentioned so far is that on her arrival, she had only just barely been released by her doctor to come here. She was being treated for pneumonia for the second time since September and had antibiotics to take, etc. But when it came time to go home, she really wasn't feeling well. Complained of feeling jittery and weak. We postponed her trip for a couple of days. At one point, she had mixed an alcoholic drink with meds that clearly said not to...and suddenly, she was on the floor, unable to get up. A friend was here. The two of us got her up, and after the friend left, I got Shari to her bed. I figured that would be the end of it...but suddenly, she was up again and on the floor again. I tried to get her back to the bed but couldn't, so I called the paramedics. They checked her for a stroke and took her "vitals". By this time, she was answering them clearly, so we both went to bed. I was getting scared....
A day or two later, Shari began to complain of severe chest pain. She was certain it wasn't heart-related, but she was VERY uncomfortable, shaky on her feet, nauseated, and had chills and a fever. I called for the paramedics again and determined she needed to go to the ER. I got there maybe 30 minutes behind the ambulance that transported her. They x-rayed her lungs, gave her morphine and a prescription for pain meds and antibiotics, saying her pneumonia was back, big time, and that she should check in with her doctor when she got home. Then sent her back to my house.
Go home? She was almost 200 miles from home and not capable of driving due to her condition and the meds she was given. In the course of all of this, I had an MRI on my knee which showed a torn meniscus. She drives a Tahoe. I couldn't even get in it to drive her home if I needed to! Thus, we called her daughter and son-in-law to drive over from Greenview, IL, to drive her and her car back to Springfield, IL--March 18th, a full 12 days after her original departure date, with no relief in sight.
Laurie and Danny got here about noon. They got her packed up, fed (although she couldn't eat much), and headed back west at about 4:00. I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn't happy for her to leave, but she was very, very sick, and there was virtually nothing I could do for her here. I could barely take care of myself! I was happy that she would be on her own turf with her own support system and doctors that know her.
They got home safely. This was last Sunday. Laurie stayed with her that night and called Shari's pulmonologist for an appointment the next morning. Her earliest appointment was Wednesday, at which point, the doctor plopped her in the hospital, where she still is as of this writing. She was/is quite ill, and it happened right under my nose!
I have talked to her almost every day by phone. Her biggest regret is that she can't be here for my knee surgery which isn't even scheduled yet. She is worried about me when she is a whole lot sicker than I am!!!!
I don't know what God has in store for either of us, but I DO know that she doesn't have to be here for me to know that she loves me. And I hope she understands the same about me.
May the Lord watch between thee and me, while we are apart, one from the other, dear sister. I love you! Get well!
Shari had to come on a bit different route than usual because of some road construction close to my home. (Less than five miles from here.) I had given her instructions, but she got bumfuzzled and managed to have a fender-bender with another car at an intersection maybe a mile from here. Ugh!
I'll get the dates wrong, but we had a good time. It was her whole focus to take me somewhere special to eat for my birthday. I mulled it over in my mind for days...and then, out of nowhere, my daughter in Seattle suggested that we needed to see a show. BINGO! I checked to see what Beef and Boards Dinner Theater in Indy was showing. Turned out to be Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat, which I had never seen but always wanted to. Thus, in an instant, our birthday decision was made and paid for. (Thank you, Shari!!)
Thereafter, before and after--whatever--we shopped at Kohl's so Shari could spend her coupons. (She spent it all on me.) We drove up to Indy's north side to shop at Trader Joe's. Shari LOVES the Charles Shaw white zinfandel that TJ's sells, so she buys a whole case, because it's cheap. (Called "Two-Buck Chuck" by many.) We ate at Waffle House one morning; Bob Evans another day...and, of course, the piece-de-resistance: Beef and Boards Dinner Theater. Interspersed in there were visits to the orthopedist for steroid knee shots due to my injury. (See previous post.)
My Birthday was March 2nd. We left for Beef and Boards plenty early. I had good directions to get there but had never driven there myself, even though I had been there two times before. I got us in the right neighborhood but kept turning the wrong say until Shari said, "Go that way. We haven't done that before." And there it was. She got stuck dropping me off at the door and parking the car because I really wasn't walking well with the knee injury. The food was pretty good. (Our server carried my buffet-served foods back to the table for me so I could utilize my hands to get up the stairs.) They announced my birthday from the stage, along with others (but mine got the most applause because I was the oldest)! The show was fantastic. The trip home was easy, so we basked in the afterglow for a day or two. What a great time!!
Shari was slated to go home on March 6th. Her dog was in a boarding kennel at home...and she was worried about getting her bills paid. What I haven't mentioned so far is that on her arrival, she had only just barely been released by her doctor to come here. She was being treated for pneumonia for the second time since September and had antibiotics to take, etc. But when it came time to go home, she really wasn't feeling well. Complained of feeling jittery and weak. We postponed her trip for a couple of days. At one point, she had mixed an alcoholic drink with meds that clearly said not to...and suddenly, she was on the floor, unable to get up. A friend was here. The two of us got her up, and after the friend left, I got Shari to her bed. I figured that would be the end of it...but suddenly, she was up again and on the floor again. I tried to get her back to the bed but couldn't, so I called the paramedics. They checked her for a stroke and took her "vitals". By this time, she was answering them clearly, so we both went to bed. I was getting scared....
A day or two later, Shari began to complain of severe chest pain. She was certain it wasn't heart-related, but she was VERY uncomfortable, shaky on her feet, nauseated, and had chills and a fever. I called for the paramedics again and determined she needed to go to the ER. I got there maybe 30 minutes behind the ambulance that transported her. They x-rayed her lungs, gave her morphine and a prescription for pain meds and antibiotics, saying her pneumonia was back, big time, and that she should check in with her doctor when she got home. Then sent her back to my house.
Go home? She was almost 200 miles from home and not capable of driving due to her condition and the meds she was given. In the course of all of this, I had an MRI on my knee which showed a torn meniscus. She drives a Tahoe. I couldn't even get in it to drive her home if I needed to! Thus, we called her daughter and son-in-law to drive over from Greenview, IL, to drive her and her car back to Springfield, IL--March 18th, a full 12 days after her original departure date, with no relief in sight.
Laurie and Danny got here about noon. They got her packed up, fed (although she couldn't eat much), and headed back west at about 4:00. I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn't happy for her to leave, but she was very, very sick, and there was virtually nothing I could do for her here. I could barely take care of myself! I was happy that she would be on her own turf with her own support system and doctors that know her.
They got home safely. This was last Sunday. Laurie stayed with her that night and called Shari's pulmonologist for an appointment the next morning. Her earliest appointment was Wednesday, at which point, the doctor plopped her in the hospital, where she still is as of this writing. She was/is quite ill, and it happened right under my nose!
I have talked to her almost every day by phone. Her biggest regret is that she can't be here for my knee surgery which isn't even scheduled yet. She is worried about me when she is a whole lot sicker than I am!!!!
I don't know what God has in store for either of us, but I DO know that she doesn't have to be here for me to know that she loves me. And I hope she understands the same about me.
May the Lord watch between thee and me, while we are apart, one from the other, dear sister. I love you! Get well!
Friday, March 24, 2017
The Long, Sad Saga of My Left Knee
It's been awhile since I last posted in this blog. As my former mother-in-law used to say, I don't know where the time goes, but it does. I posted all about my Seattle trip in December after my sister and I returned to the Midwest. And then New Year's Eve happened, and then MLK Day, and Groundhog Day...and the world just kept on turning.
Early in the morning of February 11th, I was up early, as usual. My first excursion out of bed is to head for the bathroom, as usual. And, as usual, I got there...except...just as I got to the bathroom door, my left knee blew out. I don't know how else to describe it. It was sudden and excruciating pain. I couldn't bear any weight on it at all. The pain almost put me to the floor--and I'm not particularly a pain weenie. I grabbed the bathroom doorknob which is, fortunately, close to the toilet so I could lower myself down and take care of business, but then I had to figure out how to maneuver to the rest of the house to summon help.
Usually, when I have something that hurts, I give it a little time, and usually, the pain subsides. That wasn't happening this time. I stumbled and bumbled and hung onto furniture surfaces to wend my way to the kitchen chair where I keep my "nest". On the way, I grabbed the house phone so I could call my Nosy Neighbor Fred, across the street. It was maybe 8:00 AM by this time. Fred has a key to my house because he and/or his wife pick up my mail for me when I am traveling. Fortunately, they are early-risers, like me.
I wasn't decent. I was covered only in a t-shirt and underwear, but there was a small throw blanket in the kitchen by my nest chair that I could reach, so I covered myself with that. When he came in, I told Fred where he could find my robe so I could cover up, then made him turn his head while I put it on. Another crisis averted! Fred brought my rollater in from the car. (A rollater is a walker on wheels that has a seat in the middle. I take it with me at all times in case I have to shop in a place that doesn't have carts to lean on or places to sit.) I could tell immediately that it wasn't going to help my mobility, so I asked if he could go to the drug store to buy me some crutches. God bless him, he did. I didn't have any cash on hand to send with him, so he bought them with his own money, with the understanding that I would pay him back as soon as I got some money.
When I was a kid, it was fun to play with people's crutches. I can now tell you from personal experience that crutches aren't fun if you actually need them. It took me a bit to understand the dynamics of how to use them while trying to keep one leg off the ground. Ugh!
I kept the phone with me in my robe pocket. It was probably noon or so before I figured out that I needed medical help. I needed to go to the ER, which is 15 miles away. (Prompt Care wouldn't do.) I reasoned I would probably need an ambulance because I had NO idea how I could possibly get from the house to a car. And so I called Judy Heffelman.
I wouldn't know much about Judy were it not for the fact that her youngest son and my only daughter were married once. We share two beautiful grandchildren. We go to the same church. Judy and her husband are pillars of the church, and we share experiences and holidays together as family even though our kids are divorced. We decided as an entity back at divorce time that we would stay strong with both of our children for the sake of our grandkids. It has worked. And since I no longer have any blood family anywhere close to me, Judy and Phil are my go-to people in emergencies. It's a big-time plus that Judy is also a retired RN and has been relied on by virtually every "alone" friend for help. She has a HUGE heart!
Within an hour or less, Judy showed up on my doorstep with a wheelchair. I went to the hospital ER in a robe and slippers, totally in need of a shower but too desperate to do more than just wash up as best I could.
Judy stayed with me in the ER, where they x-rayed and ultrasounded my knee and leg. They were looking for broken bones, blood clot, bad circulation, and/or baker's cyst. Nothing. I was given prescriptions for pain meds, advised to see an orthopedist, and sent home with the diagnosis of "knee pain." DUH!!!!
We left the hospital around 7:00 PM or so. We stopped at a McD's because we were hungry before heading back to Plainfield. Stopped at the Walgreen's in Plainfield to turn in the prescriptions, then came home and wrangled me back in the house. Judy then went back to Walgreen's to pick up the prescriptions with the last of my cash. It had been a long day for both of us! Judy never complained, bless her heart. I'm sure she could have thought of a hundred other things to do with her Saturday afternoon and most of that evening. She didn't want to leave me, but armed with heavy drug meds and the inability to walk around to get in trouble, I assured her I would be okay. And I was.
The next day, after church, Judy came back over to check on me. I sent her out with my debit card to get me a shower stool and a "grabber" to pick stuff up off the floor, and get me some cash. Of course, she brought food. By this time, I was motivating with just one crutch because I had figured out how to do it, and the pain meds helped a bunch.
I had prescriptions for Naproxen and Hydrocodone. Although they helped with the pain, they also upset my stomach, so I stopped taking them. By this time, the pain wasn't bad enough to make them necessary. (I wouldn't be a very good prescription pill abuser. I hate those things!)
That Monday, I called the orthopedist for an appointment. It took 1 1/2 weeks to get in to see him. Judy took me. My knee was x-rayed again. The orthopedist said my knee was arthritic and recommended steroid shots and physical therapy. I passed on the shot that day--only because I remember my big, strapping father complaining that the cortisone shot he got in his shoulder for bursitis was the worst pain he had ever felt. Buuut...my sister convinced me that I should go back for the shot because "they help". So I scheduled another appointment a week later. Took the shot and scheduled myself for physical therapy that same day. (Are you following me, so far?? I swear I wasn't told that the knee injection was a 3-shot deal. The doc says he told me....) The physical therapist put a knee sleeve on my knee and most just did an assessment, but gave me an exercise to do in between visits.
Here I should probably mention that every one of my visits to the orthopedist carried a $45 co-pay, and every visit to PT would cost $40. Originally, I was scheduled for PT twice a week until I found out the financial part. I scheduled it for once a week...but then life happened.
After the second knee injection, with my concerns that they weren't helping and that I doubted the arthritis diagnosis, the orthopedist finally ordered an MRI. I wasn't doubting the doctor, per se. I was mostly musing that if my knee were simply arthritic, it would have hurt over a longer period of time--not just WHAM! To the doctor's credit, he understood that insurance companies and Medicare don't particularly like paying for expensive tests before cheaper therapies are tried first. (Of course, they don't care how much we suffer in the meantime!!) Thus, the MRI was scheduled locally for the day before my third scheduled knee shot.
When I arrived at the orthopedist's office, he announced that there was "news". The MRI showed a torn meniscus. All I could say was, "Oh, thank God!" I was so concerned that the MRI would show nothing, in spite of my pain and suffering. The knee injection was canceled; the physical therapy was canceled; the orthopedist washed his hands of me, saying that I would now be in the hands of a surgeon to perform arthroscopic surgery--"two poke" surgery. Yay!
Well...yay only for a moment. I had to set up an appointment with the surgeon from that office...but he would be "out" the next week, and was highly-scheduled for the week after that....so....I don't even get a consultation for surgery until April 6th!!!! Almost two months after the initial injury. I'm getting around. I have a cane, crutches, a grabber, a shower seat and a tub grabber...etc. I hate this but am dealing with it. It's hell to get old, but I'm happy to be alive.
Early in the morning of February 11th, I was up early, as usual. My first excursion out of bed is to head for the bathroom, as usual. And, as usual, I got there...except...just as I got to the bathroom door, my left knee blew out. I don't know how else to describe it. It was sudden and excruciating pain. I couldn't bear any weight on it at all. The pain almost put me to the floor--and I'm not particularly a pain weenie. I grabbed the bathroom doorknob which is, fortunately, close to the toilet so I could lower myself down and take care of business, but then I had to figure out how to maneuver to the rest of the house to summon help.
Usually, when I have something that hurts, I give it a little time, and usually, the pain subsides. That wasn't happening this time. I stumbled and bumbled and hung onto furniture surfaces to wend my way to the kitchen chair where I keep my "nest". On the way, I grabbed the house phone so I could call my Nosy Neighbor Fred, across the street. It was maybe 8:00 AM by this time. Fred has a key to my house because he and/or his wife pick up my mail for me when I am traveling. Fortunately, they are early-risers, like me.
I wasn't decent. I was covered only in a t-shirt and underwear, but there was a small throw blanket in the kitchen by my nest chair that I could reach, so I covered myself with that. When he came in, I told Fred where he could find my robe so I could cover up, then made him turn his head while I put it on. Another crisis averted! Fred brought my rollater in from the car. (A rollater is a walker on wheels that has a seat in the middle. I take it with me at all times in case I have to shop in a place that doesn't have carts to lean on or places to sit.) I could tell immediately that it wasn't going to help my mobility, so I asked if he could go to the drug store to buy me some crutches. God bless him, he did. I didn't have any cash on hand to send with him, so he bought them with his own money, with the understanding that I would pay him back as soon as I got some money.
When I was a kid, it was fun to play with people's crutches. I can now tell you from personal experience that crutches aren't fun if you actually need them. It took me a bit to understand the dynamics of how to use them while trying to keep one leg off the ground. Ugh!
I kept the phone with me in my robe pocket. It was probably noon or so before I figured out that I needed medical help. I needed to go to the ER, which is 15 miles away. (Prompt Care wouldn't do.) I reasoned I would probably need an ambulance because I had NO idea how I could possibly get from the house to a car. And so I called Judy Heffelman.
I wouldn't know much about Judy were it not for the fact that her youngest son and my only daughter were married once. We share two beautiful grandchildren. We go to the same church. Judy and her husband are pillars of the church, and we share experiences and holidays together as family even though our kids are divorced. We decided as an entity back at divorce time that we would stay strong with both of our children for the sake of our grandkids. It has worked. And since I no longer have any blood family anywhere close to me, Judy and Phil are my go-to people in emergencies. It's a big-time plus that Judy is also a retired RN and has been relied on by virtually every "alone" friend for help. She has a HUGE heart!
Within an hour or less, Judy showed up on my doorstep with a wheelchair. I went to the hospital ER in a robe and slippers, totally in need of a shower but too desperate to do more than just wash up as best I could.
Judy stayed with me in the ER, where they x-rayed and ultrasounded my knee and leg. They were looking for broken bones, blood clot, bad circulation, and/or baker's cyst. Nothing. I was given prescriptions for pain meds, advised to see an orthopedist, and sent home with the diagnosis of "knee pain." DUH!!!!
We left the hospital around 7:00 PM or so. We stopped at a McD's because we were hungry before heading back to Plainfield. Stopped at the Walgreen's in Plainfield to turn in the prescriptions, then came home and wrangled me back in the house. Judy then went back to Walgreen's to pick up the prescriptions with the last of my cash. It had been a long day for both of us! Judy never complained, bless her heart. I'm sure she could have thought of a hundred other things to do with her Saturday afternoon and most of that evening. She didn't want to leave me, but armed with heavy drug meds and the inability to walk around to get in trouble, I assured her I would be okay. And I was.
The next day, after church, Judy came back over to check on me. I sent her out with my debit card to get me a shower stool and a "grabber" to pick stuff up off the floor, and get me some cash. Of course, she brought food. By this time, I was motivating with just one crutch because I had figured out how to do it, and the pain meds helped a bunch.
I had prescriptions for Naproxen and Hydrocodone. Although they helped with the pain, they also upset my stomach, so I stopped taking them. By this time, the pain wasn't bad enough to make them necessary. (I wouldn't be a very good prescription pill abuser. I hate those things!)
That Monday, I called the orthopedist for an appointment. It took 1 1/2 weeks to get in to see him. Judy took me. My knee was x-rayed again. The orthopedist said my knee was arthritic and recommended steroid shots and physical therapy. I passed on the shot that day--only because I remember my big, strapping father complaining that the cortisone shot he got in his shoulder for bursitis was the worst pain he had ever felt. Buuut...my sister convinced me that I should go back for the shot because "they help". So I scheduled another appointment a week later. Took the shot and scheduled myself for physical therapy that same day. (Are you following me, so far?? I swear I wasn't told that the knee injection was a 3-shot deal. The doc says he told me....) The physical therapist put a knee sleeve on my knee and most just did an assessment, but gave me an exercise to do in between visits.
Here I should probably mention that every one of my visits to the orthopedist carried a $45 co-pay, and every visit to PT would cost $40. Originally, I was scheduled for PT twice a week until I found out the financial part. I scheduled it for once a week...but then life happened.
After the second knee injection, with my concerns that they weren't helping and that I doubted the arthritis diagnosis, the orthopedist finally ordered an MRI. I wasn't doubting the doctor, per se. I was mostly musing that if my knee were simply arthritic, it would have hurt over a longer period of time--not just WHAM! To the doctor's credit, he understood that insurance companies and Medicare don't particularly like paying for expensive tests before cheaper therapies are tried first. (Of course, they don't care how much we suffer in the meantime!!) Thus, the MRI was scheduled locally for the day before my third scheduled knee shot.
When I arrived at the orthopedist's office, he announced that there was "news". The MRI showed a torn meniscus. All I could say was, "Oh, thank God!" I was so concerned that the MRI would show nothing, in spite of my pain and suffering. The knee injection was canceled; the physical therapy was canceled; the orthopedist washed his hands of me, saying that I would now be in the hands of a surgeon to perform arthroscopic surgery--"two poke" surgery. Yay!
Well...yay only for a moment. I had to set up an appointment with the surgeon from that office...but he would be "out" the next week, and was highly-scheduled for the week after that....so....I don't even get a consultation for surgery until April 6th!!!! Almost two months after the initial injury. I'm getting around. I have a cane, crutches, a grabber, a shower seat and a tub grabber...etc. I hate this but am dealing with it. It's hell to get old, but I'm happy to be alive.
Friday, February 3, 2017
Eating Healthy
Define "healthy".
I grew up in a farming family. My mother was a farm kid. Her family, no matter the economic conditions of the times, always had food. They had a huge garden for produce, plus chickens in the yard and pigs to be slaughtered and cows for milk and meat.
My father was raised in poverty. He had few opportunities for good food other than what he could shoot or grow on limited resources. I swear that the reason he was attracted to my mother in college was because her family had FOOD! (In case you are wondering how my father could go to college as a dirt-poor youth, he went on an athletic scholarship because, by his senior year of high school, he was declared one of the top 25 student athletes in the state of Illinois.)
Except for the heaviest of the Navy days when we traveled a bunch, if there was ever a chance to settle down, our back yard had a garden. Period. Dad always helped my grandparents with their garden, then in later years, when my parents retired to my grandparents' farm, there was a huge garden. Dad had a green thumb and relished all of the fresh produce that came from it: lettuce (several kinds), Swiss chard, kohlrabi, beets, broccoli, carrots, potatoes, eggplant, asparagus, tomatoes, acorn squash, zucchini squash, hubbard squash, onions, peas, green beans, sweet corn, strawberries, raspberries...and just beyond the garden, apples. (Did I miss anything??) We never for a moment worried about the healthy part. There were many, many meals on the homestead when the only thing on the table that wasn't home grown was the meat.
That was then; this is now. I always had a garden as a younger adult, no matter where my then-husband and I lived. Unfortunately, my divorce put me in a situation where a garden was no longer feasible. I am now subject to the dietary buzz words and trends of the day because I have to buy from grocery stores. Here are some of those:
Gluten free. Many, many products now tout "gluten free" on their packaging. Living gluten free is only helpful to people who have Celiac Disease--slightly less than 1% of the American population. If you haven't been diagnosed with that, you actually aren't helping yourself by buying products that are "gluten free". If I see that on product packaging, I have to look to see if the product is naturally gluten free or if the seller has tampered with it to remove the gluten. Why? If you are expecting to buy a product that normally contains gluten, and you happen to buy that same product but with the gluten removed, you will immediately notice the taste. Pretty bad!
Dairy free. Once again, unless you are lactose intolerant, robbing yourself of dairy products takes out a whole food group from your life. Maybe you wouldn't notice it, but I sure would. I can't imagine a world with no milk for my cookies, no cheese for my burger, and no butter for my toast.
No GMOs. GMO stands for Genetically Modified Organism. I'm not the least bit sure why these aren't "healthy" for us, but it occurs to me that science is involved. If so, they have found ways to improve on a product. (No one ever genetically modifies something to make it worse.) Stay tuned on this one.
No high fructose corn syrup. Much of what we eat is turned into glucose in our bodies. I'm still at a loss to understand how this is so bad. It's part of the nation-wide conspiracy against sugar! I'm well aware that sugar is a non-nutrient, but it does provide energy for those who are active. Studies have shown that human babies are born with a natural affinity for slightly sweet and slightly salty. If we are born that way, can it all be bad??
Salt. Well, here we go! Table salt. Himalayan pink salt. Sea salt. Kosher salt. Guess what folks? It's all salt! Sea salt is no better than table salt. It isn't healthier; it's just different...and one of the day's buzz words. The body needs salt. What do you think are in those IV bags they poke you full of in the hospital? Usually saline (salt) solution, with or without glucose (sugar). I rest my case! My cardiologist wants me on a low sodium diet, but I confess that I am a saltaholic and have been unable to get away from the stuff.
Organic. You pay more for organic produce at the store. Why? They claim that they don't use herbicides or pesticides or fertilizers, which means that there is a huge loss to growers due to bugs and blights. You get to pay for that. Again I ask why? If you wash your produce before you consume it, the risks to your health are minimal.
Simple recipe. As you are buying your products, look for these words, either on TV or on your product. Companies are taking perfectly wonderful products and changing them to make them "simpler". Most of the time, what was once tasty is now ruined. I refer to I Can't Believe It's Not Butter Lite. Once they made it "simpler", it no longer tasted good and would not melt properly. My daughter and I abandoned it but did complain to the company about their "simpler recipe".
Wild caught; Free Range; Grass fed. I guess the American public wants happy livestock just before it is slaughtered? I am all for the humane treatment of animals, but I'm not insane about it. I'm not at all sure why wild-caught fish is supposed to be better than farmed fish, or why free-range chickens are better than farmed chickens when served on a dinner plate, but I claim ignorance. As for beef that is only grass fed? It's tough. Tender filet mignons come from cows that are corn fed in a feed lot shortly before slaughter. If it weren't so, why would it happen in the first place?
No antibiotics. This one, I have to think twice about. Even I, ignorant as I am about these things, can see how antibiotics given to dairy cattle could get in the milk supply and create antibiotic-resistant bacteria in humans. But how? Are antibiotics given routinely to dairy cows? Do they have the same antibiotics that humans get? Do they get the same kinds of diseases that humans get? I don't know.
I do get a chuckle out of the Perdue chicken ads on TV that promote that their chickens get no antibiotics. They put oregano in the chickens' water to keep them healthy. If oregano has antibiotic qualities, I should be immune to every disease on the planet! I love Italian food and use lots of oregano. Yay me!
Raw milk. There is a trendy move afoot for people to drink unpasteurized milk because it is "natural". "Pasteurization is the process of heat-processing a liquid or a food to kill pathogenic bacteria to make the food safe to eat. The use of pasteurization to kill pathogenic bacteria has helped reduce the transmission of diseases, such as typhoid fever, tuberculosis, scarlet fever, polio, and dysentery."
I'm sorry. There will be no consumption of unpasteurized milk in my household! I personally have milked a cow by hand a number of times in a barnyard situation. I know what falls into that open milk bucket--flies, dirt, hair from the cow--you name it. (Fortunately, professional modern dairy barns use the "unnatural" means of vacuum extraction of the milk--a closed system that keeps most of those impurities out.)
When my family was sent to Japan (1957) where my Navy father was to be stationed, we were given a brochure about things to watch out for. One among many was not to drink Japanese milk because the Japanese at that time did not test their dairy cattle for tuberculosis. I assume it also meant that the milk wasn't pasteurized to kill the bacteria that cause it. While in Japan, I drank one glass of Japanese milk while visiting my Japanese friend at her house because it was supplied to me, along with Omocha, a traditional Japanese New Year treat. I was trying to be polite.
A decade or so later when I became a teacher (1969) Illinois teachers had to be tested for TB before every school year. My skin test always came back "positive"...so I would have to follow up with a chest x-ray that would show I didn't have TB. I blamed the Japanese milk. Who knows? Fortunately, the law about yearly chest x-rays for teachers disappeared as TB almost did. Otherwise, we educators would all glow in the dark!
On a similar note, but about eggs this time, one of my dear friends moved out of Plainfield to the country west of town. He started raising chickens and would bring me eggs when he came to visit. I asked if the eggs had been "candled". He told me no because they were unfertilized eggs. Candling simply means passing an egg through a bright light to look for dark spots. Obviously, eggs that aren't fertilized won't show evidence of an embryo inside, but eggs sometimes contain blood spots. Blood spots won't hurt the taste of the egg, but they are sure unappetizing when you happen to break one in a pan! (Hence the reason that older cooks recommend breaking eggs into a separate dish before adding them to other ingredients.) Just a few years ago, I was trying to feed my family--here on a visit--one of my famous skillets for breakfast when, I had the misfortune of breaking a commercial egg into a pan with other eggs to scramble. That particular egg was so full of blood that it almost made me gag! Not sure how it passed inspection at the company, but I had to find a way to get it out of the pan or risk the whole breakfast. Yeah..."natural" isn't always "better".
Call me naive, but I believe that American food sources are the safest in the world. (Just ask my Russian friends, Luda and Sergei.) I think, however, that we Americans are guilty of following trends that have no basis in truth. People need to do their homework before they jump on bandwagons. (Look alive, anti-vaxxers!) I am guilty of picking three strawberries and throwing the fourth in my mouth, straight off the plant. As a kid, I drank out of the hose, crunched on carrots I had just pulled out of the ground, and drank well water that hadn't been tested in decades (if ever). I'll be 70 next month. Draw your own conclusions!
Obviously, I'm not a "foodie". There is a show called Portlandia that pokes fun at those who are. It seems to be a Pacific Northwest thing, but getting popular elsewhere (except in the Midwest). I'm not making fun of anyone. My daughter tells me that I am "weird" about food. No, I'm not weird. I am a Midwestern, home-grown person who cooked for a meat-and-potatoes family for most of my life, as my mother did. I didn't grow up with couscous, quinoa, edamame, or other such offerings, most of which I can't even spell, much less know what they are. And **I** am weird?
I just noticed that the box my little Banquet cherry pie came in says, "Made with real cherries" on the outside. Do they really have to say that? What is the alternative truth for cherry pie? FAKE cherries? Strange world we live in!
To each his own!
I grew up in a farming family. My mother was a farm kid. Her family, no matter the economic conditions of the times, always had food. They had a huge garden for produce, plus chickens in the yard and pigs to be slaughtered and cows for milk and meat.
My father was raised in poverty. He had few opportunities for good food other than what he could shoot or grow on limited resources. I swear that the reason he was attracted to my mother in college was because her family had FOOD! (In case you are wondering how my father could go to college as a dirt-poor youth, he went on an athletic scholarship because, by his senior year of high school, he was declared one of the top 25 student athletes in the state of Illinois.)
Except for the heaviest of the Navy days when we traveled a bunch, if there was ever a chance to settle down, our back yard had a garden. Period. Dad always helped my grandparents with their garden, then in later years, when my parents retired to my grandparents' farm, there was a huge garden. Dad had a green thumb and relished all of the fresh produce that came from it: lettuce (several kinds), Swiss chard, kohlrabi, beets, broccoli, carrots, potatoes, eggplant, asparagus, tomatoes, acorn squash, zucchini squash, hubbard squash, onions, peas, green beans, sweet corn, strawberries, raspberries...and just beyond the garden, apples. (Did I miss anything??) We never for a moment worried about the healthy part. There were many, many meals on the homestead when the only thing on the table that wasn't home grown was the meat.
That was then; this is now. I always had a garden as a younger adult, no matter where my then-husband and I lived. Unfortunately, my divorce put me in a situation where a garden was no longer feasible. I am now subject to the dietary buzz words and trends of the day because I have to buy from grocery stores. Here are some of those:
Gluten free. Many, many products now tout "gluten free" on their packaging. Living gluten free is only helpful to people who have Celiac Disease--slightly less than 1% of the American population. If you haven't been diagnosed with that, you actually aren't helping yourself by buying products that are "gluten free". If I see that on product packaging, I have to look to see if the product is naturally gluten free or if the seller has tampered with it to remove the gluten. Why? If you are expecting to buy a product that normally contains gluten, and you happen to buy that same product but with the gluten removed, you will immediately notice the taste. Pretty bad!
Dairy free. Once again, unless you are lactose intolerant, robbing yourself of dairy products takes out a whole food group from your life. Maybe you wouldn't notice it, but I sure would. I can't imagine a world with no milk for my cookies, no cheese for my burger, and no butter for my toast.
No GMOs. GMO stands for Genetically Modified Organism. I'm not the least bit sure why these aren't "healthy" for us, but it occurs to me that science is involved. If so, they have found ways to improve on a product. (No one ever genetically modifies something to make it worse.) Stay tuned on this one.
No high fructose corn syrup. Much of what we eat is turned into glucose in our bodies. I'm still at a loss to understand how this is so bad. It's part of the nation-wide conspiracy against sugar! I'm well aware that sugar is a non-nutrient, but it does provide energy for those who are active. Studies have shown that human babies are born with a natural affinity for slightly sweet and slightly salty. If we are born that way, can it all be bad??
Salt. Well, here we go! Table salt. Himalayan pink salt. Sea salt. Kosher salt. Guess what folks? It's all salt! Sea salt is no better than table salt. It isn't healthier; it's just different...and one of the day's buzz words. The body needs salt. What do you think are in those IV bags they poke you full of in the hospital? Usually saline (salt) solution, with or without glucose (sugar). I rest my case! My cardiologist wants me on a low sodium diet, but I confess that I am a saltaholic and have been unable to get away from the stuff.
Organic. You pay more for organic produce at the store. Why? They claim that they don't use herbicides or pesticides or fertilizers, which means that there is a huge loss to growers due to bugs and blights. You get to pay for that. Again I ask why? If you wash your produce before you consume it, the risks to your health are minimal.
Simple recipe. As you are buying your products, look for these words, either on TV or on your product. Companies are taking perfectly wonderful products and changing them to make them "simpler". Most of the time, what was once tasty is now ruined. I refer to I Can't Believe It's Not Butter Lite. Once they made it "simpler", it no longer tasted good and would not melt properly. My daughter and I abandoned it but did complain to the company about their "simpler recipe".
Wild caught; Free Range; Grass fed. I guess the American public wants happy livestock just before it is slaughtered? I am all for the humane treatment of animals, but I'm not insane about it. I'm not at all sure why wild-caught fish is supposed to be better than farmed fish, or why free-range chickens are better than farmed chickens when served on a dinner plate, but I claim ignorance. As for beef that is only grass fed? It's tough. Tender filet mignons come from cows that are corn fed in a feed lot shortly before slaughter. If it weren't so, why would it happen in the first place?
No antibiotics. This one, I have to think twice about. Even I, ignorant as I am about these things, can see how antibiotics given to dairy cattle could get in the milk supply and create antibiotic-resistant bacteria in humans. But how? Are antibiotics given routinely to dairy cows? Do they have the same antibiotics that humans get? Do they get the same kinds of diseases that humans get? I don't know.
I do get a chuckle out of the Perdue chicken ads on TV that promote that their chickens get no antibiotics. They put oregano in the chickens' water to keep them healthy. If oregano has antibiotic qualities, I should be immune to every disease on the planet! I love Italian food and use lots of oregano. Yay me!
Raw milk. There is a trendy move afoot for people to drink unpasteurized milk because it is "natural". "Pasteurization is the process of heat-processing a liquid or a food to kill pathogenic bacteria to make the food safe to eat. The use of pasteurization to kill pathogenic bacteria has helped reduce the transmission of diseases, such as typhoid fever, tuberculosis, scarlet fever, polio, and dysentery."
I'm sorry. There will be no consumption of unpasteurized milk in my household! I personally have milked a cow by hand a number of times in a barnyard situation. I know what falls into that open milk bucket--flies, dirt, hair from the cow--you name it. (Fortunately, professional modern dairy barns use the "unnatural" means of vacuum extraction of the milk--a closed system that keeps most of those impurities out.)
When my family was sent to Japan (1957) where my Navy father was to be stationed, we were given a brochure about things to watch out for. One among many was not to drink Japanese milk because the Japanese at that time did not test their dairy cattle for tuberculosis. I assume it also meant that the milk wasn't pasteurized to kill the bacteria that cause it. While in Japan, I drank one glass of Japanese milk while visiting my Japanese friend at her house because it was supplied to me, along with Omocha, a traditional Japanese New Year treat. I was trying to be polite.
A decade or so later when I became a teacher (1969) Illinois teachers had to be tested for TB before every school year. My skin test always came back "positive"...so I would have to follow up with a chest x-ray that would show I didn't have TB. I blamed the Japanese milk. Who knows? Fortunately, the law about yearly chest x-rays for teachers disappeared as TB almost did. Otherwise, we educators would all glow in the dark!
On a similar note, but about eggs this time, one of my dear friends moved out of Plainfield to the country west of town. He started raising chickens and would bring me eggs when he came to visit. I asked if the eggs had been "candled". He told me no because they were unfertilized eggs. Candling simply means passing an egg through a bright light to look for dark spots. Obviously, eggs that aren't fertilized won't show evidence of an embryo inside, but eggs sometimes contain blood spots. Blood spots won't hurt the taste of the egg, but they are sure unappetizing when you happen to break one in a pan! (Hence the reason that older cooks recommend breaking eggs into a separate dish before adding them to other ingredients.) Just a few years ago, I was trying to feed my family--here on a visit--one of my famous skillets for breakfast when, I had the misfortune of breaking a commercial egg into a pan with other eggs to scramble. That particular egg was so full of blood that it almost made me gag! Not sure how it passed inspection at the company, but I had to find a way to get it out of the pan or risk the whole breakfast. Yeah..."natural" isn't always "better".
Call me naive, but I believe that American food sources are the safest in the world. (Just ask my Russian friends, Luda and Sergei.) I think, however, that we Americans are guilty of following trends that have no basis in truth. People need to do their homework before they jump on bandwagons. (Look alive, anti-vaxxers!) I am guilty of picking three strawberries and throwing the fourth in my mouth, straight off the plant. As a kid, I drank out of the hose, crunched on carrots I had just pulled out of the ground, and drank well water that hadn't been tested in decades (if ever). I'll be 70 next month. Draw your own conclusions!
Obviously, I'm not a "foodie". There is a show called Portlandia that pokes fun at those who are. It seems to be a Pacific Northwest thing, but getting popular elsewhere (except in the Midwest). I'm not making fun of anyone. My daughter tells me that I am "weird" about food. No, I'm not weird. I am a Midwestern, home-grown person who cooked for a meat-and-potatoes family for most of my life, as my mother did. I didn't grow up with couscous, quinoa, edamame, or other such offerings, most of which I can't even spell, much less know what they are. And **I** am weird?
I just noticed that the box my little Banquet cherry pie came in says, "Made with real cherries" on the outside. Do they really have to say that? What is the alternative truth for cherry pie? FAKE cherries? Strange world we live in!
To each his own!
Monday, January 30, 2017
About Faith
A year or so ago, my granddaughter asked me to be a part of a generations project for a class. Part of the many assignments was to share letters about differences between generations. She was to write me with questions to which I would respond, then she was to draw conclusions on her own.
In response to one of her questions (I forget what it was now), I explained my belief that people need faith. I call myself a Christian; that is to say, I go to church and abide by Christian principles for the most part, but I have never, ever, believed or said that people need organized religion in order to lead good and virtuous lives. Unfortunately, Robin took away from my advice to have "faith" that she needed religion. She later told me that we weren't on the same page with that. It was only then that I realized that either I had given her the wrong message, or she had misinterpreted what I said.
The only thing I was trying to impart--to Robin and to every student I ever had, when the subject came up--is that we human beings are flawed. If the only thing we have faith in is ourselves, we are doomed to failure because, deep down, every person is looking for love and guidance. That's what parents are for. When we are young, parents make our decisions for us and look out for our comfort and safety. When we are adults, who or what guides us? We have to find something to act as a parent for us. Ourselves? But...but...we are "only human". We make mistakes. Sometimes BIG mistakes. So where to turn? Therein lies my belief that all we need to have faith in something more powerful than ourselves. Every culture in every country on Planet Earth has faith in some higher power. God? Jesus? Mohammed? Buddha? Love? Nature? Satan? Zeus? Does it matter? What matters is what gives us peace. Even the most hard-wired scientists of the world understand and respect that the natural order of things is beyond human comprehension. Ignoring our spirituality is a mistake. I was just advising Robin to find and keep something to believe in.
Ryan (my grandson) has already declared that he doesn't believe in the Bible. The stories are just too much against realistic possibilities. I don't blame him. I have my own questions about that stuff, but I still want him to believe in something spiritual. I like it when the grandkids are here and attend church with me. They do so under duress, but I can't believe they are hurt by it. It gives me a feeling of completeness...that they care enough about what I believe in to be there by my side in the pew. They do it for me...and I like that.
There is an episode of The Andy Griffith Show, where Opie (a young boy) has an imaginary horse, and everyone thinks it's cute. But then he comes up with what everyone thinks is an imaginary friend--Mr. McBeavey, who walks in the trees, wears a silver helmet, jingles when he walks, and can make smoke come out of his ears. It's only when Opie comes up with a hatchet that Mr. McBeavey gave him...and then a quarter...that Andy (his father) tries to force him to admit that Mr. McBeavey isn't real, just like his imaginary horse. Opie won't/can't do it because Mr. McBeavey is real. (The audience already knows this.) Andy decides that Opie needs a "whippin'" because his son isn't telling the truth. When he confronts Opie about it, Opie begs his father, "You believe me, don't you, Pa? Don't you believe me??" Andy leaves the room without punishing Opie, and when others question Andy about it, he is asked, "So do you believe in Mr. McBeavey?" Andy answers, "No, but I believe in Opie." He also mentions that his boy has been asked to believe what would otherwise seem unbelievable, so it was his turn to give up what he thought he knew about reality in favor of his kid. The happy ending is that Andy goes to the woods and finds the real Mr. McBeavey.
My point in mentioning that is how much we expect children to believe what is beyond their senses. God becomes a sort of Santa Claus. All you have to do is ask him for things and they appear. It's only later that they come to understand that there is no magic. There aren't always happy endings.
Truth be known, I am often ashamed to admit that I am a Christian, based on the behavior of others who also make the same claim. I submit to you yet another story:
My daughter, Megan, when her children were very young, was seeking support and comaraderie with a local MOM group. It was Christian-based. Meg related to another friendly mother and so sometimes called her for support. At one point, the other mother said, "If you were a better Christian, you wouldn't have these problems." In one statement, the woman dashed every positive thought my daughter ever had about Christianity...and my hopes to bring her to a community of faith. The irony? Awhile later, Megan found herself behind this woman's car at a McDonald's drive-thru on a summer's day when the windows were down. She heard this gal yelling at her kids, "I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS WHEN WE GET HOME!" Even on a bad day, Megan would not have talked to her children that way!
Meg and family are now UU's--Unitarian Universalist. In the beginning, I worried that it was anti-Christian but came to know that UU's are all-inclusive and leave no one out due to religious beliefs or status in life. I think I'm there!
Edwin Markham said it, and I repeat as my mantra in these trying times:
“He drew a circle that shut me out-
Heretic , rebel, a thing to flout.
In response to one of her questions (I forget what it was now), I explained my belief that people need faith. I call myself a Christian; that is to say, I go to church and abide by Christian principles for the most part, but I have never, ever, believed or said that people need organized religion in order to lead good and virtuous lives. Unfortunately, Robin took away from my advice to have "faith" that she needed religion. She later told me that we weren't on the same page with that. It was only then that I realized that either I had given her the wrong message, or she had misinterpreted what I said.
The only thing I was trying to impart--to Robin and to every student I ever had, when the subject came up--is that we human beings are flawed. If the only thing we have faith in is ourselves, we are doomed to failure because, deep down, every person is looking for love and guidance. That's what parents are for. When we are young, parents make our decisions for us and look out for our comfort and safety. When we are adults, who or what guides us? We have to find something to act as a parent for us. Ourselves? But...but...we are "only human". We make mistakes. Sometimes BIG mistakes. So where to turn? Therein lies my belief that all we need to have faith in something more powerful than ourselves. Every culture in every country on Planet Earth has faith in some higher power. God? Jesus? Mohammed? Buddha? Love? Nature? Satan? Zeus? Does it matter? What matters is what gives us peace. Even the most hard-wired scientists of the world understand and respect that the natural order of things is beyond human comprehension. Ignoring our spirituality is a mistake. I was just advising Robin to find and keep something to believe in.
Ryan (my grandson) has already declared that he doesn't believe in the Bible. The stories are just too much against realistic possibilities. I don't blame him. I have my own questions about that stuff, but I still want him to believe in something spiritual. I like it when the grandkids are here and attend church with me. They do so under duress, but I can't believe they are hurt by it. It gives me a feeling of completeness...that they care enough about what I believe in to be there by my side in the pew. They do it for me...and I like that.
There is an episode of The Andy Griffith Show, where Opie (a young boy) has an imaginary horse, and everyone thinks it's cute. But then he comes up with what everyone thinks is an imaginary friend--Mr. McBeavey, who walks in the trees, wears a silver helmet, jingles when he walks, and can make smoke come out of his ears. It's only when Opie comes up with a hatchet that Mr. McBeavey gave him...and then a quarter...that Andy (his father) tries to force him to admit that Mr. McBeavey isn't real, just like his imaginary horse. Opie won't/can't do it because Mr. McBeavey is real. (The audience already knows this.) Andy decides that Opie needs a "whippin'" because his son isn't telling the truth. When he confronts Opie about it, Opie begs his father, "You believe me, don't you, Pa? Don't you believe me??" Andy leaves the room without punishing Opie, and when others question Andy about it, he is asked, "So do you believe in Mr. McBeavey?" Andy answers, "No, but I believe in Opie." He also mentions that his boy has been asked to believe what would otherwise seem unbelievable, so it was his turn to give up what he thought he knew about reality in favor of his kid. The happy ending is that Andy goes to the woods and finds the real Mr. McBeavey.
My point in mentioning that is how much we expect children to believe what is beyond their senses. God becomes a sort of Santa Claus. All you have to do is ask him for things and they appear. It's only later that they come to understand that there is no magic. There aren't always happy endings.
Truth be known, I am often ashamed to admit that I am a Christian, based on the behavior of others who also make the same claim. I submit to you yet another story:
My daughter, Megan, when her children were very young, was seeking support and comaraderie with a local MOM group. It was Christian-based. Meg related to another friendly mother and so sometimes called her for support. At one point, the other mother said, "If you were a better Christian, you wouldn't have these problems." In one statement, the woman dashed every positive thought my daughter ever had about Christianity...and my hopes to bring her to a community of faith. The irony? Awhile later, Megan found herself behind this woman's car at a McDonald's drive-thru on a summer's day when the windows were down. She heard this gal yelling at her kids, "I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS WHEN WE GET HOME!" Even on a bad day, Megan would not have talked to her children that way!
Meg and family are now UU's--Unitarian Universalist. In the beginning, I worried that it was anti-Christian but came to know that UU's are all-inclusive and leave no one out due to religious beliefs or status in life. I think I'm there!
Edwin Markham said it, and I repeat as my mantra in these trying times:
“He drew a circle that shut me out-
Heretic , rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle and took him in !
Saturday, January 28, 2017
Wake Up, Women of America!
This post is a little bit about Donald Trump, our 45th President, but it is mostly about American women and where we go from here.
Prior to his election--maybe even a couple of years prior--Mr. Trump was caught saying these things. (The language is his, not mine.) And I quote:
"I did try and fuck her. She was married. I moved on her like a bitch, but I couldn’t get there. And she was married. Then all of a sudden I see her, she’s now got the big phony tits and everything. She’s totally changed her look. I’ve gotta use some Tic Tacs, just in case I start kissing her. You know I’m automatically attracted to beautiful — I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. Just kiss. I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star they let you do it. You can do anything… Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything."
Let's look at this objectively. Take out the fact that this man would go on to run for the highest office in the land and win by electoral votes. What's wrong with this? I mean, he's a man, right? Boys will be boys, right? Here's my take:
1. He knows gutter words, and he knows how to use them. Congratulations. That puts him on a par with almost every junior high level male on the planet whose mommy didn't teach him that it's not nice to use those words in public.
2. He has no respect for the institution of marriage. The woman to whom he refers was married, which apparently makes her a challenge for conquest rather than a person.
3. He can't control his sexual impulses. If he can't control those, what other impulses can he not control?
4. He objectifies the woman in question. She is reduced to an image, complete with references to her breasts and beauty. Nothing at all about her character or brains.
5. He recognizes that, because he is a "star", he can get away with anything--even sexual assault. He seems to see women as his personal groupies.
I've seen #5 before. Had an obese colleague in a school in Illinois once (in the early 70s) who told me I would "make pretty babies". When I called him on how offensive that would be to other women who might not be as close to him as I was, he told me that no one ever took him seriously because he was fat. Thus, he could get away with it. In an instant, I knew he was right. And so it is with Donald Trump. He is rich. That gives him privilege to be an ass. When his quote came out in the media, he didn't apologize. He didn't say that he was sorry if he offended anyone. He dismissed his words as "locker room" talk, as if that made it all better.
Now here is the crux of my message: D. Trump is right. "And when you're a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything."
Every time a man cheats on his wife, he is cheating WITH someone. Some other woman has chosen to believe his lies or cooperate with them--or maybe even create them for him. For whatever reason, they have given up the only thing they truly own in life--their bodies--to men who use them. Then they are totally shocked and hurt when the man disappears, and they are left alone and lonely. Here's a newsflash: it takes two to tango. You can't be left behind, alone and pregnant, if you don't get pregnant in the first place, if you catch my drift.
I am a woman. I am the mother of a woman, and the grandmother of a woman. It pains me that the leader of our country has shown himself to be guided by his penis rather than his brain, but it pains me more to know that we, as women, continue to fall into the trap.
What is the trap?? Sexism and misogyny are so ingrained into our national fiber that neither men nor women even recognize it when it smacks them in the face. My ex never failed to comment on a female newscaster's appearance but did not do so for male newscasters. I've seen the same sentiment a hundredfold later with candidate Hillary Clinton. Even got an email from a radio friend telling me that I should give Mrs. Clinton lessons in appearance because the "last time [he] saw her, she looked like a bag lady". (I confess that I cracked up on that. I asked him when it was he last saw her. State dinner? Meeting at the Executive Office? Then told him that the next time I saw her, I'd be sure to give her tips on how to spiff herself up because we all know that the way we look is more important than what we do when we are female!)
How guilty are we, as women? Pretty guilty! Not so much with middle class ladies, but if you are rich and famous and get to rub elbows with other rich and famous people? VERY guilty! Look at the Kardashians. Need I say more?? Women of America, no one can take advantage of you if you won't let them. Women of America, stop going to bed with men who are going to desert you the minute something is expected of them. Women of America, don't stop marching. If you think old rich men are going to stand up for you, think again! Women of America, stop waiting for these rich old men to "give" you rights that are already yours for the taking. The hand that rocks the cradle, rules the world.
Prior to his election--maybe even a couple of years prior--Mr. Trump was caught saying these things. (The language is his, not mine.) And I quote:
"I did try and fuck her. She was married. I moved on her like a bitch, but I couldn’t get there. And she was married. Then all of a sudden I see her, she’s now got the big phony tits and everything. She’s totally changed her look. I’ve gotta use some Tic Tacs, just in case I start kissing her. You know I’m automatically attracted to beautiful — I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. Just kiss. I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star they let you do it. You can do anything… Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything."
Let's look at this objectively. Take out the fact that this man would go on to run for the highest office in the land and win by electoral votes. What's wrong with this? I mean, he's a man, right? Boys will be boys, right? Here's my take:
1. He knows gutter words, and he knows how to use them. Congratulations. That puts him on a par with almost every junior high level male on the planet whose mommy didn't teach him that it's not nice to use those words in public.
2. He has no respect for the institution of marriage. The woman to whom he refers was married, which apparently makes her a challenge for conquest rather than a person.
3. He can't control his sexual impulses. If he can't control those, what other impulses can he not control?
4. He objectifies the woman in question. She is reduced to an image, complete with references to her breasts and beauty. Nothing at all about her character or brains.
5. He recognizes that, because he is a "star", he can get away with anything--even sexual assault. He seems to see women as his personal groupies.
I've seen #5 before. Had an obese colleague in a school in Illinois once (in the early 70s) who told me I would "make pretty babies". When I called him on how offensive that would be to other women who might not be as close to him as I was, he told me that no one ever took him seriously because he was fat. Thus, he could get away with it. In an instant, I knew he was right. And so it is with Donald Trump. He is rich. That gives him privilege to be an ass. When his quote came out in the media, he didn't apologize. He didn't say that he was sorry if he offended anyone. He dismissed his words as "locker room" talk, as if that made it all better.
Now here is the crux of my message: D. Trump is right. "And when you're a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything."
Every time a man cheats on his wife, he is cheating WITH someone. Some other woman has chosen to believe his lies or cooperate with them--or maybe even create them for him. For whatever reason, they have given up the only thing they truly own in life--their bodies--to men who use them. Then they are totally shocked and hurt when the man disappears, and they are left alone and lonely. Here's a newsflash: it takes two to tango. You can't be left behind, alone and pregnant, if you don't get pregnant in the first place, if you catch my drift.
I am a woman. I am the mother of a woman, and the grandmother of a woman. It pains me that the leader of our country has shown himself to be guided by his penis rather than his brain, but it pains me more to know that we, as women, continue to fall into the trap.
What is the trap?? Sexism and misogyny are so ingrained into our national fiber that neither men nor women even recognize it when it smacks them in the face. My ex never failed to comment on a female newscaster's appearance but did not do so for male newscasters. I've seen the same sentiment a hundredfold later with candidate Hillary Clinton. Even got an email from a radio friend telling me that I should give Mrs. Clinton lessons in appearance because the "last time [he] saw her, she looked like a bag lady". (I confess that I cracked up on that. I asked him when it was he last saw her. State dinner? Meeting at the Executive Office? Then told him that the next time I saw her, I'd be sure to give her tips on how to spiff herself up because we all know that the way we look is more important than what we do when we are female!)
How guilty are we, as women? Pretty guilty! Not so much with middle class ladies, but if you are rich and famous and get to rub elbows with other rich and famous people? VERY guilty! Look at the Kardashians. Need I say more?? Women of America, no one can take advantage of you if you won't let them. Women of America, stop going to bed with men who are going to desert you the minute something is expected of them. Women of America, don't stop marching. If you think old rich men are going to stand up for you, think again! Women of America, stop waiting for these rich old men to "give" you rights that are already yours for the taking. The hand that rocks the cradle, rules the world.
Saturday, January 7, 2017
Christmas at Home
After all of the Seattle travels, I had four days to get my house ready for my grandchildren and their father and stepmother for a slightly more than two-day visit over Christmas. The grandchildren were flying from Seattle to O'Hare in Chicago on Christmas Eve, where they would be picked up by their dad at some ungodly early hour, then would ride the four-hour trip to Indy. What's in Indy? The grandparents. Both sides.
A word about relationships here. (I know I have written about this before, so forgive me if I repeat myself.) My grandchildren's father is my former son-in-law. His parents, because of his marriage to my daughter, are good friends of mine. We also attend the same church. When our kids split up, we made it our mission to make certain that the grandchildren weren't handicapped by ego-centric hard feelings. We acknowledged that both of our children had made mistakes in their marriage, and we decided to take the high road. They continue to be supportive of my daughter, and I continue to be supportive of their son.
The other grandparents (Judy and Phil) have a small house, the same as I, but through improvements and additions, our homes both have four bedrooms. The difference is that I live alone in mine, but they are three people--a son lives with them--which takes up two of their bedrooms, and boxes of belongings take up their other two. Thus, when Nathan and Kendra--my grandchildren's father and stepmother--come to visit for whatever reason, I open my house to them. Whether they are coming for a family reunion, the Indianapolis 500, a holiday, or whatever, they have a place to stay, with or without my grandchildren. It is never my intention for them to include me in their plans. I try to accommodate their needs, but they more than cover those, themselves. Kendra always leaves things better than she found them!
The family arrived on Christmas Eve day just before noon. The grandchildren, who had been flying all night and on the road all day, so far, said hi and went right to bed. Later, they went to Judy and Phil's for supper, and we all met up to go to the 7:00 PM service at church. We got there 30 minutes early, but it was too late! We ended up having to sit in the overflow section in the narthex. When the service was over, the family split for the door before I even got myself put together. They beat me home!
Kendra is converting to Judaism, and Christmas Eve was the first day of Hanukkah. When we all gathered at home, she brought out her menorah (with tiny little oil cups for candles), and we gathered for the traditional prayers. The kids got their first-day-of-Hanukkah presents. I popped popcorn while they played a card game. It was nice!
On Christmas Day, we all went to Judy and Phil's for a delightful dinner and gift exchange. I came home after a bit, but the family stayed for awhile. (I like that, actually, because I feel that they all need a chance to visit without my intrusion.) Everyone played cards again after lighting the second Hanukkah candle. We had a good time.
The next day, the 26th, they prepared to leave. Kendra was having problems with her car stemming from an oil change a couple of weeks before that. They found a Jiffy Lube to address the problem before leaving Indy. (Turned out that the oil was over-filled by a quart.) In any case, they all got back to the Chicago area safely. Yay!
On New Year's Day, the grandchildren flew back to Seattle after a successful week of being with their father and stepmother (and old grandparents). In spite of all of the twists and turns of this season, I can't remember a reason to be happier. Christmas 2016 was one of the best ever!
A word about relationships here. (I know I have written about this before, so forgive me if I repeat myself.) My grandchildren's father is my former son-in-law. His parents, because of his marriage to my daughter, are good friends of mine. We also attend the same church. When our kids split up, we made it our mission to make certain that the grandchildren weren't handicapped by ego-centric hard feelings. We acknowledged that both of our children had made mistakes in their marriage, and we decided to take the high road. They continue to be supportive of my daughter, and I continue to be supportive of their son.
The other grandparents (Judy and Phil) have a small house, the same as I, but through improvements and additions, our homes both have four bedrooms. The difference is that I live alone in mine, but they are three people--a son lives with them--which takes up two of their bedrooms, and boxes of belongings take up their other two. Thus, when Nathan and Kendra--my grandchildren's father and stepmother--come to visit for whatever reason, I open my house to them. Whether they are coming for a family reunion, the Indianapolis 500, a holiday, or whatever, they have a place to stay, with or without my grandchildren. It is never my intention for them to include me in their plans. I try to accommodate their needs, but they more than cover those, themselves. Kendra always leaves things better than she found them!
The family arrived on Christmas Eve day just before noon. The grandchildren, who had been flying all night and on the road all day, so far, said hi and went right to bed. Later, they went to Judy and Phil's for supper, and we all met up to go to the 7:00 PM service at church. We got there 30 minutes early, but it was too late! We ended up having to sit in the overflow section in the narthex. When the service was over, the family split for the door before I even got myself put together. They beat me home!
Kendra is converting to Judaism, and Christmas Eve was the first day of Hanukkah. When we all gathered at home, she brought out her menorah (with tiny little oil cups for candles), and we gathered for the traditional prayers. The kids got their first-day-of-Hanukkah presents. I popped popcorn while they played a card game. It was nice!
On Christmas Day, we all went to Judy and Phil's for a delightful dinner and gift exchange. I came home after a bit, but the family stayed for awhile. (I like that, actually, because I feel that they all need a chance to visit without my intrusion.) Everyone played cards again after lighting the second Hanukkah candle. We had a good time.
The next day, the 26th, they prepared to leave. Kendra was having problems with her car stemming from an oil change a couple of weeks before that. They found a Jiffy Lube to address the problem before leaving Indy. (Turned out that the oil was over-filled by a quart.) In any case, they all got back to the Chicago area safely. Yay!
On New Year's Day, the grandchildren flew back to Seattle after a successful week of being with their father and stepmother (and old grandparents). In spite of all of the twists and turns of this season, I can't remember a reason to be happier. Christmas 2016 was one of the best ever!
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